A Second Taste
by Avianahelena
Summary: After a drunken encounter with Draco Malfoy, Hermione finds herself somewhat conflicted... and of course, Draco never can leave well enough alone. Antics ensue. I'd say EWE, but it can all fit into canon if you squint.


Standard warnings apply: I do not own the characters or settings depicted herein, nor do I derive monetary benefits from this work. Explicit sexual content. Attempts at British slang by an American author. Mostly un-beta'd.

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><p>He really did have exquisite hands.<p>

Hermione had always thought so, even when she should have been focusing on other things, such as the effortless way he could turn her day from pleasant to sour in moments. She couldn't stand the man, really; his actions both before and during the war had revealed him as an arrogant, bullying weasel, a bigot and a coward, and the intervening years had done nothing to change his image. He seemed determined to become his father, always lurking in some high-profile office or crucial meeting with a bag of gold in his cloak and a soft, knowing smirk on his pale features. He blocked pro-Muggle legislation, whispered in the ears of Ministry department heads, financed shady imports and influenced legislation boards. Everywhere Hermione turned at the Ministry, there he was, undermining her belief that the war had really changed things. Every law she proposed that became bogged down in Ministry red tape instead of going into effect, every denied budget request and rejected project proposal, every social event that ended with Hermione Apparating home early in a whirl of rage and frustration: they all had his smirking face on them. The very mention of his name in the Atrium on a Monday morning spelled an entire week of teeth-gnashing and obstacle-wrangling for Hermione.

Still, he really did have _exquisite_ hands.

"Earth to Hermione!"

Hermione blinked and refocused her attention on Ginny, who grinned at her. "I know this party's a total disaster," she said, "but try to focus for me, okay?"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "No," she said dryly, "a disaster would be entertaining. This is... limbo."

"Tell me about it. Look, even Rita Skeeter's gone home."

The event had gone on for hours; those not thoroughly engrossed in brown-nosing were bored out of their minds. Indeed, even Rita Skeeter had shoved her venomous quill into her bag and called it a night quite some time ago.

"God, can you believe this? It's like we're trapped in an endless time loop of drinking and arse-kissing."

"That's what the event is for, Ginny," Hermione snorted, taking a sip of her wine to illustrate her point, though her gaze had already begun to wander again. "What else can one possibly do at a 'Ministry Function for Fostering Goodwill Amongst Wizardkind'?"

"One can assemble a panel to think of a better name for the event?" Ginny suggested. "But never mind that; aren't we supposed to be tricking the purebloods into bribing the right officials?"

"Hmm? Can't they figure that on their own?" Hermione murmured, even as she unconsciously searched the room. _'The decorators did a good job. I hope Kingsley remembered to make sure their house-elves get decent pay. I still cannot believe they actually think decorating the stateroom in Slytherin green will make the purebloods support our cause...'_ Her inner monologue tapered off as her eyes found a familiar head of blond hair, trailed down over pale skin and dark robes, then settled once more on the hands that had haunted her for the past several days.

They were gorgeous hands, really: slender and aristocratic, with long delicate fingers and short, well-kept nails. Even when she managed to keep her gaze from them, she could not stop her mind's eye from replaying certain... scenes... that involved them rather prominently.

"Hermione?" Ginny's questioning tone penetrated her reverie.

_'Cripes, how long have I been staring?'_ She jerked her eyes from the objects of her fascination and swept the large, airy stateroom with her gaze, hoping to cover her zone-out by feigning interest in the few people left around her.

"You've been acting a bit oddly," Ginny continued. Hermione shook her head, fighting an embarrassed flush.

"I'm just tired and jittery. That proposal for the Heirloom Reclassification Act took weeks to craft, and if we don't get enough support for it tonight, it may crash and burn," she explained. _'Plausible,'_ she complimented herself.

"Plus, you and Ron are still fighting," Ginny added. Hermione sighed and nodded, fighting down a flare of annoyance at the reminder. She shot a disgruntled look into the corner opposite, where Ron stood with Harry, Kingsley and a serious-looking Gringotts representative. Ron glanced at her, but set his jaw mulishly and looked away. Harry spoke to him and he scowled, flinging his hands about irritably as he replied.

"Well, he's grumpy," Ginny observed. "Why's he still so worked up, anyway? Isn't he usually kissing up to you by now after you've kicked him out?"

"He feels a bit slighted, I suppose," Hermione shrugged, though the glare she leveled at Ron was anything but casual. "After all, I went out to the pub with Luna last Friday and didn't come home to listen to his groveling." _'Yeah, I was too busy getting sloshed and shagging Draco Malfoy,'_ she added sourly in her mind. Her eyes attempted to flick towards Draco, but she checked the motion, fixing her attention on her friend.

"You didn't?" Ginny's eyes widened. "You were out all night? Luna said she left early; you weren't with her? Wait, that means you stayed over with someone! Hermione, you—you actually got laid, _and you didn't tell me_?"

Hermione gave her a flat look. "You know, Ron assumed the same thing. You're remarkably alike."

"Oh right," Ginny snorted, "so you're in trouble for sleeping with someone?"

"_Allegedly_ sleeping with someone," Hermione corrected.

"Mm-hm. Sure, _allegedly_," Ginny said. "As if you would be so cagey about it if it wasn't true."

Hermione glared at Ginny, but the redhead would not be deterred.

"Tell me _all_ about it," she demanded, her eyes sparkling with excitement. "Was he cute? Was he rich? Was he better than my thickheaded brother? Did you scr—"

_'Yes, yes, yes, and ohgod probably,'_ Hermione thought, but cut Ginny off before she could finish her line of questioning.

"Ginny! Not here, okay?" she hissed, knowing her face had gone red but unable to do anything about the blatant tell.

Ginny smiled like a cat. "All right, but don't think you can get away without giving me details." She wagged her finger at Hermione and then turned away with a giggle. "I'm going to go see if I can drag Harry home before sunrise, but you—" she pointed sternly— "are coming to my house for tea and gossip tomorrow."

Hermione sighed. "Yes, Ginny," she said in the most long-suffering voice she could manage.

Ginny winked and waved, then trotted to her husband's side. Harry wrapped an arm around his wife in absent affection before casting a glance in Hermione's direction. He opened his mouth as though to call out to her, but then he caught Ron's glower, grimaced and shot her an apologetic look.

_'Ah, Not-Getting-into-the-Middle-of-It Harry,'_ Hermione identified. _'Haven't seen him since... the last time Ron was behaving like a four-year-old.'_

Which had been fairly recent, come to think of it. Hermione seemed to recall a row about cabbages last week, during which Harry and Ginny's spare bedroom saw a lot of use and Harry's Neutral Look almost became his permanent expression.

_'Cabbages, for crying out loud.'_ Hermione shot a disgusted look at Ron, who happened to be watching her and stepped up his glower a notch. She glowered back as snatches of Saturday morning's row drifted back to her.

_Ron sitting at her kitchen table, growling, "Where the hell have you been?" Anger tinged with panic. Harsh recriminations and defensive counterattacks. A slammed door; a ringing silence. Sinking into a chair and feeling sick and disloyal._

Hermione tore her gaze from Ron's, fuming. She didn't feel guilty. She didn't. He had been entirely out of line to accuse her of cheating on him.

_'CHEATING,'_ Hermione sniped. Because going out to a pub on a Friday night with a friend and not returning until the next day clearly meant she had slept with someone.

Well... she _had_—probably—but that was entirely beside the point. The point was that he had no proof, and they'd been broken up at that point anyway, and—

_'Excuses.'_

Well, yes. She had to make excuses. Otherwise, she would have to admit to having met Draco Malfoy in a bar, gone upstairs with him, and engaged in carnal acts which she had quite thoroughly enjoyed.

_'There. Was that so hard?'_

Yes. Yes it was. Now, if her inner voice would excuse her, she needed to make this glass of wine disappear _pronto_ and then find a way to get a second one without anyone noticing her sudden increase in alcohol intake.

She also needed to stop staring at Malfoy's hands. _'What the hell is wrong with me? Yes, he's pretty. He's _still_ a _git_,'_ she snarled, mentally slapping herself. She felt surreal and out-of-sorts, and had since she woke up Saturday morning to find herself naked in bed next to Draco Malfoy.

Despite efforts to prevent it, her gaze moved as though magnetically drawn to the 'git' in question, who stood across the room with Head Auror Robards. He held a half-full glass of scotch in one hand and illustrated his conversation with languid motions of the other. Her eyes, initially transfixed by his hands, began to wander over the rest of him, and as they did so her memories began to run wild.

Draco's fine blond hair looked artfully disheveled and fell over his face to brush his cheeks, which had acquired a charming blush from the alcohol he had consumed. _Her fingers twined in fine blond strands as a wicked tongue flicked over her nipple—_

Grey eyes that glittered with malice when pointed at Hermione now shone with mischievous good humor. _"No diagram needed," he purred, eyes glittering with smug satisfaction as she writhed against him, those fingers—_

Long black robes laced with silver accentuated a lean frame made powerful by years of Quidditch. _That lean body pressed against hers, holding her in place while his mouth plundered hers and his hands turned her body to fire—_

A silver signet ring graced one long, delicate finger, and her eyes were drawn to it as he tapped the side of his glass idly.

"Ah, just the woman I'm looking for."

Hermione started, barely suppressing a yelp, and turned to see that Blaise Zabini had managed to sneak up behind her. He looked haughty and elegant as usual, dressed in ruby robes of rich velvet trimmed in gold. _'Gryffindor colors,'_ Hermione observed. _'How ironic.'_ With a somewhat wry smirk, he kissed her hand and then offered her a fresh glass of wine.

"I thought you favored blondes," Hermione said as she accepted the proffered glass and set aside her empty one. Zabini graced her with a chilly smile.

"It's bad form to leave a lovely lady standing alone," he replied.

"Especially one who is so well-situated at the Ministry," Hermione added, mimicking his look of lofty nonchalance. Blaise laughed.

"Miss Granger, you think the worst of me," he said.

"Mr. Zabini, you demand it," she returned. He gave her another smile that didn't reach his eyes and leaned against a nearby pillar, sweeping the room with a disinterested gaze.

"You're still fighting with your boyfriend," he remarked, nodding toward Ron, whose eyes had narrowed on him with scorching intensity. This did not seem to concern Blaise much, as he merely sneered back and returned his attention to Hermione.

"I fail to see how that's any of your business," Hermione said. She felt a twinge of annoyance at his forwardness which preceded a stronger wave of irritation as she noted the look of jealousy on Ron's face. _'Oh right, we're fighting; everything with a penis is a threat,'_ she thought, before her companion reclaimed her attention.

"I'm a curious soul," Blaise said.

"I'm sure," she deadpanned. At that, Blaise's lips quirked into a tiny but much more genuine smile.

"Speaking of indulging my curiosity," he said, leaning toward her and dropping his voice to a low, conspiratorial tone, "how was your night with Draco?"

Hermione very nearly choked on her wine, but recovered enough aplomb to give him a cold look. "If you want to know _that_, you'll have to ask him."

"Oh, one can never trust Draco to tell the truth. He'd give us a line about how you've secretly fancied him for years and never dared make a move, or sneer that we all wanted a go with you and he was the only one with enough balls to try." He smirked. "Too bad he can't just deny it altogether, eh? Once Pansy got hold of it he was doomed."

"Thank you for that, by the way," Hermione responded. "Fantastic job. Of all the people to catch me in a rented bedroom with the worst possible person I could ever be caught _with_, you had to send _Parkinson_."

Blaise chuckled. "Well, of course," he said silkily. "If her significant other strays, she has the right to know."

As he spoke, he shot a pointed look in Ron's direction, causing Hermione to flush. "What's your interest in this?" she snapped. "Do you just enjoy messing with people's minds? Is that it?"

Blaise raised an eyebrow at her and gestured with his wine glass as if to say, 'look who you're talking to.'

He had a point.

She opened her mouth to berate him, but before she could make a proper start to one of her famous tongue-lashings, another voice cut across hers.

"Oy, Zabini, what are you doing with my girl?"

_'Oh look, the valiant rescue,'_ Hermione groused. She and Blaise both turned to face Ron Weasley, who stood in a casual stance that the annoyance in his blue eyes belied.

"I was merely complimenting her on her dress," Blaise replied. He swept Hermione with his eyes and favored her with a slow, seductive smile that made Ron's face turn scarlet and his jaw clench. "Azure is a lovely color on you, Hermione," the former Slytherin said, "and the bronze trim—" he reached out and ran a finger over one glossy curl— "really complements your hair and eyes." He smirked at Ron's rising ire and stepped back, adding, "Though I do think a Twilfitt is wasted on a lifeless event like this. Few Ministry drones can appreciate good fashion."

"Thank you, Mr. Zabini," she replied, refusing to further bait Ron by echoing Blaise's use of her given name.

Ron, of course, took no note of her tact.

"You know who designed her dress?" he asked in a tone of scornful disbelief. Blaise merely gave another of his cold-eyed smiles and sipped his drink while Hermione tried to remind herself that this behavior from Ron should not cause her fingers to twitch toward her wand. _'It's only because we've been arguing,'_ she told herself. _'Don't do anything you'll regret. No hexes. Just calm down and say... something.'_

"Ah, I see the Minister and Labret are free," Blaise said before she could gather her wits. He kissed Hermione's hand once more and excused himself in order to sidle up beside Kingsley and the Gringotts representative, whom Ron had left alone in the far corner when he stalked over, Harry and Ginny having taken their leave. _'So that's what he was doing,'_ Hermione realized. _'Drawing Ron away so he could suck up to Kingsley in peace.'_

Ron muttered something that sounded a lot like 'bloody ponce,' then turned an accusatory glance on Hermione. "Getting a bit cozy with Zabini there, eh Hermione?"

_'Blaming me. Classic.'_ Hermione's fingers touched the hilt of her wand, but she managed to keep her voice even. "What do you mean?"

"He was complimenting your dress? What a crock. What did he really want?"

Her fingertips touched the warm wood of her wand once again, and she fought to keep a hold on her temper. _'Not in public, Hermione. He's just baiting you so you'll say you never cheated on him.' _Which was ridiculous, and not helping her temper in the slightest. She _hadn't_ cheated, technically, and she should _not_ have to defend herself. She took a deep, calming breath.

"Perhaps he really was complimenting my dress," she said in a low, deadly tone. Ron snorted, and just like that her temper boiled over. "Oh, what, that's not possible? Why, because you've already decided we're secret lovers? Is that it? Never occurred to you that he might just be _messing with our minds_, the way these arrogant pureblood ex-Slytherin pricks always _do_?" she hissed, fairly trembling with rage. Her mind's eye showed her a condescending smirk and mocking grey eyes, and she acknowledged with a queer sense of resignation that her damned irrational guilt was definitely feeding her anger.

Ron noted the defensiveness in her tone—_'way to get perceptive, Ron'_—and his eyes narrowed in heightened suspicion. "Was _he_ who you were with?" he demanded. Hermione snorted.

"I think I have better taste than that." _'Oh, you filthy liar,'_ sang a voice in her brain. It sounded amused. "Besides that, Ron, you have no right to be jealous. I am my own woman and what I do when we're broken up is my business."

"What, so we have a fight and you get to go out and shag some random bloke? _That's_ not my business?" Ron's voice had risen, attracting the attention of several nearby people, and Hermione groaned.

"So I was supposed to sit at home and pine for you? Is that it?" she demanded.

Ron gave her a blank look. "Well... _yes_," he said, as though it should have been obvious. Hermione was struck speechless for a moment, but then her jaw clenched as she clamped down on the rage and forced her hand away from her wand.

"...I think we're done here, Ronald," she said, as calmly as she could.

He threw up his hands. "Fine," he said. "If you want to pretend it's all _my_ fault—"

"No, I mean we're _done_," she interrupted, and then continued through gritted teeth. "I am through making up and making nice. I come to work every day and have to fight to get the most trivial rules past the committees, because the purebloods are fighting me with everything they have and Kingsley can't auto-approve my suggestions the way he did in my old Department. I come home after a long day of meetings and research and appointments and more research and I usually find you sprawled on the couch asking me when dinner is and implying that I'll be happier if I turn into your mother—"

"_Hey_ now, that's not—"

"_Shut up, Ronald._ I've said this over and over again, but you don't seem to get it. I need you to _listen to me_ and try to _understand_, but you seem to think that if you just humor me for a while, all my issues will just float away!"

"I think you're overreacting a little," Ron said in a placating tone, and Hermione growled.

"This is _precisely_ what I'm talking about! You're possessive, you're patronizing, you're insensitive, you're inconsiderate—!" Hermione broke off, unable to keep her voice down any longer and unwilling to cause a scene.

Ron recovered his voice with a visible effort. "So what, you're breaking up with me?"

"_We're already broken up, Ron_," Hermione said in exasperation.

"Yeah, for like the tenth time," Ron scoffed. "Come on, this is just a spat, 'Mione. We're soul mates, you can't just—"

"Trouble in Paradise, Weasley?"

Merlin help her, that drawling voice _still_ made her reach for her wand, despite the heat that rushed through her which had nothing to do with anger. Hermione stayed her hand and whirled to see Draco sauntering toward them, accompanied by a bored-looking Blaise.

"What's it to you, Malfoy?" Ron snapped, blue eyes flashing. Hermione settled for a warning glare, which of course both interlopers ignored.

Malfoy shrugged, seemingly preoccupied with his glass of scotch as he replied, "just doing a public service. You two looked as though you might draw wands at any second." He _tsk_ed. "Just think of what you'd be doing to poor Rita. The Wizarding World's Second-Most-Perfect Couple dueling in public, and she not even here to see it? The poor thing might have an aneurism when she hears."

"I'm all broken up about Rita Skeeter," Ron sneered. "If you'll excuse us, this is a private conversation."

"Hardly," Draco said. "It's pretty clear what's going on. Everyone could see it coming for years."

"Malfoy," Hermione began, "maybe you'd better—"

"What are you talking about?" Ron interrupted.

"Of course, the general public will be shocked," Draco continued as though neither Ron nor Hermione had spoken, "but most of the really _informed_ people have been laying bets on how long it would last, haven't we, Blaise? Personally, I thought you wouldn't last a year, Weasley. Guess Granger's more tolerant than I thought. Or maybe she just hasn't had anyone better yet."

_'Oh, shit,'_ Hermione thought, suddenly terrified of what Draco might tell Ron.

Ron's eyes widened and then narrowed dangerously. "What the hell are you on about, Malfoy?"

_'Not what I think he is,'_ Hermione pleaded. Draco had been quite drunk. Maybe he wouldn't remember the things she'd told him.

Draco gave Ron the classic Malfoy smirk. "You _are_ dense," he drawled. "Fine, I'll spell it out for you. You're having issues in the bedroom, aren't you?"

_'Oh god, it _is_ what I think.'_ Hermione braced herself for Draco to tell all, her mind racing with ideas for stopping him which she scrapped, one by one, on the grounds that they all made her look insane.

Meanwhile, Ron turned a truly impressive shade of crimson. "That's none of your business, Malfoy!"

"Ah, so it is true. I always sort of figured you'd have trouble keeping a closet spitfire like Granger happy," Draco said with an evil grin. "Would you like me to give you a lesson on the proper handling of the clitoris? It could only do you good."

Hermione's emotions warred between mortification and mirth as Ron's flush became so dark that his freckles disappeared completely. He sputtered, unable to find words.

Draco had no such impediments. "Why, what's that blush? You can't be _embarrassed_ by a woman's body?" The smirk turned to a look of delighted comprehension. "Ah, I get it now! You're not into women at all, are you? You were after Potter the whole time, hmm?"

"You owe me galleons, Draco," Blaise murmured. Ron made a strangled sound of indignant rage, and Draco took that as his cue to continue, "You couldn't have Saint Potter, so you settled for the third-wheel library worm. Shame, really. As much as she talks, I'll bet she really knows how to use her tongue, if you know what I mean."

"Malfoy!" Hermione hissed, but this was too much for Ron, who launched himself at Draco with a snarl. Draco stood back, laughing, as Blaise stepped in and half-heartedly grappled Ron away from him.

"_Ron_!" Hermione's anger switched targets with a speed that startled even her. "Will you act your age! You are a Ministry official, for Merlin's sake! People are watching!"

Ron wrested his arm from Blaise's grip with a huff and turned on her. "Oh, _that's_ your concern? _People are watching_?" He shook his head in disgust. "Who _are_ you?"

"That's the big question, isn't it?" Hermione retorted. "And you don't know the bloody answer!"

"Some things never change," Malfoy remarked.

Hermione saw red. "Shut up, Malfoy," she snapped. _'Gah, _men_! _Both_ of them—stupid immature—meddling arrogant—never listen—curse those sons of—'_ Overwhelmed by the fury pounding in her temples, she turned on her heel and stormed away, blindly pushing past the small crowd of onlookers to escape into the hall.

Once outside, Hermione stood for a long moment with her eyes squeezed shut and her hands clenched at her sides, just taking deep breaths and willing her body to stop shaking.

She heard footsteps behind her and braced herself for an apology that would inevitably erupt into another row, or perhaps for further recriminations or—she dared to hope—the opening words to a genuine heart-to-heart.

"My god, Granger, you look a fright."

_'Wrong man.'_ Hermione's entire body went rigid. Draco chuckled and leaned against the wall beside her, the picture of casual elegance. "Your face is as red as Weasley's hair. That can't be healthy for you."

"Malfoy," she said in slow, measured tones. "I am one insult away from hexing your bollocks inside-out."

From the corner of her eye, she saw him blanch. "If you were going to hex anyone, you'd have done it in the stateroom when you lost your temper," he replied, though she fancied he didn't sound entirely sure.

"Ron and I have been together a long time," Hermione explained. "I can tolerate his temper fits. Your deliberate needling, on the other hand—"

"—Is something you have withstood for years without hospitalizing me," Draco finished. "Face it, Granger. You're angrier at him right now than you've _ever_ been at me."

Hermione didn't reply. She couldn't. It was true. _'Ron is a good man,'_ she told herself. _'I love him. He's aggravating but he loves me and we're happy most of the time.'_ Those things were true as well, but Hermione could not shake the anger. Worse, she could feel a dull apathy beneath the rage, lying like a blanket over the parts of her heart that used to simmer with remorse when she fought with her boyfriend. She had felt it in the bar on Friday night before Draco had spoken to her, and again when Ginny had asked why Ron was still peeved. If she pushed her anger aside, that apathy would rise up and almost—almost—drown out the guilt.

Draco stood quietly, waiting for her response, but when she said nothing, he broke the silence. "Must be awful," he said. She shot him a look, half-startled, half-questioning, and he raised an eyebrow at her and shrugged. "To live with a man who doesn't understand who you are or why."

The anger flared again. "What would _you_ know?" she snapped. "You hate everything I stand for!"

"Ah, but at least I know what this whole game is about," he said. "You and I are on opposite sides of the playing field, but we know the rules of the game and we're prepared to play. Poor _Ronald_," he sneered, "still thinks life is as simple as hexing a few bad guys and coming home to a happy hovel every day. Want to know what I think, Granger?"

"Not particularly, no."

"I think you're bored with him but you're too afraid to dump him and move on to someone more... challenging."

The words froze Hermione. _'Bored with Ron?'_ No. No, she couldn't be. Aggravated with Ron? Frequently. Exasperated by Ron? All the time. But bored? _'I'm not afraid to dump him... am I? No, I mean, I don't _want_ to dump him... right?'_

With the uncertainty came renewed anger, and she whirled on Draco and snapped, "What do you care about it, Malfoy, you're just out for a shag!"

"True, but at least I'm good at it." He stepped away from the wall and leaned in close enough that she could feel the heat from his body. "You didn't seem too perturbed the morning after," he murmured. "Does that mean you enjoyed yourself, Granger?"

Hermione gaped, stunned. _'He has no shame!'_ When he reached up and ran one pale finger over her hair, much as Blaise had but with such—such _arrogance_, as though he had a right to, she found her voice at last. "You are loathsome," she hissed, jerking away. "I thought you'd changed during the war but you're just as—as—agh!"

He stepped closer still. "And yet you still want me to shag you senseless," he smirked.

She stepped back and drew her wand to hex him, but his arm shot out, wrapped around her waist and hauled her against him. Her wand clattered to the floor and she fell into Draco's arms with a yelp of surprise, then froze when she looked up to find his smirking face inches from her own.

"You've been staring at me all evening," he murmured. "I could feel it. Are you after my body, Granger? Got a taste for real pleasure now, don't you, and you're aching for a bit more."

She scowled. "Your ego is astounding," she hissed.

"I seem to remember you saying that before," he replied, smug. "Right before you jumped me the first time."

"You came onto _me_, and—"

"You loved every second of it," he scoffed.

"_First_ of all, I was _very_ drunk," Hermione protested, her cheeks heating in a blush that was one part defensive anger and two parts embarrassment. "Secondly, how would I even know if you were any better than Ron? We were both so booze-soaked that we barely remember—" she stopped, realizing when she saw the spark of determination enter his eyes that she had just said _far_ too much.

He crushed his lips against hers, following her when she started to pull her head away, and with his probing tongue he coaxed her to return the ferocious kiss. She stilled and stood pliant, not reacting at all. _'That's what this whole stupid game is about, isn't it?'_ she wanted to say. _'Getting a reaction. Well, you won't _get_ a reaction this time.'_

But she remembered, as his mouth worked against hers and his hands started to wander, a darkened hallway and hot kisses raining down her neck. _Long fingers teasing her body, white-hot bolts of pleasure, wordless pleas for more._ She wondered then, as something he did with his tongue caused her breath to catch and her lips to part, if everything she felt had been whisky-induced... or if this despicable man could really give her body more pleasure than could the love of her life.

A cold sort of calm descended over her, and the analytical part of her asserted control. _'There's one way to find out,'_ it whispered.

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><p><em>Edited for explicit content. The full version can be found at ava-scribbles at LJ. The address is ava-scribbles, followed by a dot and then a "livejournal" and then another dot, and then a 'c' and an 'o' and an 'm', followed by a slash, then the numbers 2380, then another dot, an 'h', a 't', an 'm', and an 'l'.<em>

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><p>They both sagged against the wall, and Hermione felt a vague sense of déjà vu as they rested together until the chill in the room raised goosebumps on her exposed skin and Draco's ragged breathing returned to normal.<p>

"Well, Granger? At a loss for words?" he said after a moment, and she snorted.

"I was just thinking about how much I still can't stand you, Malfoy," she said without raising her head from its resting place against her arm. Draco shifted, stepping away, and she heard him begin to set his robes to rights.

"I fully return the sentiment," he sneered. Hermione tugged her bodice back into place and stepped away from the wall, dropping her skirts and grimacing at the way the silk clung to her damp skin. When she turned to face Draco, she found him as disheveled as she, but no less distant and cold for it.

"Yes, you can't stand me," she returned bitingly. "That's why you chased me out here and shoved me up against a wall."

"Just thought I'd offer something for you to add to your fantasy collection," he smirked, "considering you'll never get more than daydreams when you finally settle for Weasley. You'll be too busy chasing your litter of redheaded—" he broke off suddenly and paled, and Hermione's eyes narrowed.

"What?" she questioned.

"You... _are_ on contraceptives... aren't you, Granger?" he asked. Hermione rolled her eyes.

"What's the matter, Malfoy? Don't like the idea of a little blond-haired half-blood running around calling you _Daddy_?"

The thought plainly horrified him, but he replied in a dry tone. "It would be somewhat unfortunate for my reputation."

"And your inheritance, no doubt," she replied, mimicking him. "You don't have to worry about sullying your bloodlines, Malfoy, I take a potion."

He breathed a sigh of relief, ignoring her acerbity, and gave her a lazy smile and a leer. "Well then," he said. "Until next time."

"_Next_ time?" she squawked, but he turned on his heel and Disapparated before she could get another word in. "Oh, that's a dirty trick," she snarled, and stormed from the room to retrieve her wand so that she could go home and clean up. "_Slytherins_," she fumed, "are so—AAAGH!"

She snatched her wand from the ground, grumbling, and reflected that Draco was even worse than Ron, who at least gave a damn about her as a person instead of chasing after her just for—what? What the _hell_ possessed him to do this, when he professed to be repulsed by the very idea of touching a Muggle-born?

That, of course, she already knew. Hermione would admit to many faults, but naïveté was not one of them. Draco needed to be the best, and he needed to prove that Hermione was just as human as everyone else no matter how clever people thought her. He would be back, rubbing her complicity in her face and trying to get her to stoop even lower.

Which left her to wonder, even as she retrieved her panties from the conference room on an afterthought and prepared to Disapparate: _'What else can he persuade me to do?'_

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><p>I'm sorry this was not posted when I said it would be; many people who reviewed were given express permission to send me unkind messages if I did not, and yet I still missed the deadline. This is mostly unbeta'd because my beta is in Japan having a life, the lucky... person, whom I love dearly and will not bad-mouth in public. ;) At any rate, please hit me with any mistakes or inconsistencies you find. I'll be grateful to hear about them. Also, this is a sequel but I wrote it to stand alone, so do tell me if I've failed in that.<p>

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><p><strong>Notes:<strong> 1) The Heirloom Reclassification Act Hermione is so worried about would classify many objects passed down in certain wizarding families as illegal Dark objects; basically, it closes up a loophole that purebloods in my overly-detail-oriented imagination have taken advantage of for centuries by saying, "Oh, this isn't a Dark object; it's a family heirloom."

2) My characterization of Ron is not supposed to vilify him. In my mind, the negative traits he displays are simply part of his whole personality; however, when we fight with someone we tend to see only the bad. If I've taken this too far, I'd love to hear about ways I can rectify my mistake.

3) This has little to do with my story, but I do love the fact that in canon, when Harry or Ron reaches for his wand, Draco draws his, but if Hermione draws hers, Draco backs the f*** up.

4) At some point during the writing of this story, I realized with a jolt of horror that Draco and I had forgotten about Pansy. I don't know what horrors she's plotting, but she's out there...


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